The Organization
by SniperWolf
Summary: Alex Cunard, newly dead Hellsing vampire and believer in the irrationality of rationality, tries to enjoy a night alone. But what will come of a simple evening in London? And who is Cunard, really? Please R&R.
1. Rational Conclusions

"**The Organization"**

**By: SniperWolf**

**DISCLAIMER**

**(SniperWolf, our fearless (read: foolish) author, it seated in the office of Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. She is seated quite comfortably in Integra's chair, lounging with her feet on the desk, smoking one of Integra's cigars.)**

**S (niper) W (olf): (haughtily) Yes, I do own Hellsing. I admit to it. Why, yes, I am a genius, thank you for noticing. Really, even I'm impressed with me. **

**(Integra comes up behind her, but SW fails to notice her, even as she grabs a letter opener off of the desk)**

**SW: I tell you, originally I wasn't sure this would work but, really, I can't take all the credit. You see, it all started when I was born…**

**(Integra smacks SW's across the back of her head, and with the other hand brings the letter opener to SW's throat. Integra nods, and out of nowhere Alucard appears on her other side, and holds the Jackal to SW's head.)**

**Integra: Do it right.**

**SW: (Gulps) Yes ma'am. (Integra hands her an index card, which SW promptly begins to read from) I, SniperWolf, do not own Hellsing, any of its characters, or any of its story. I am, however, the owner of Inspector Cunard and various other unimportant not-as-cool-as…do I really have to say this? **

**Integra: Damn right you do.**

**SW: not-as-cool-as-Integra-Hellsing-or-Alucard secondary characters that come up across the story. (Looks at card quizzically) Wait, do I have to say this? What does this next part have to do with the disclaimer at all?**

**Integra: (Digs letter opener farther into SW's throat) Say it.**

**SW: Also let it be known that I am a horrible, horrible wuss, I'm afraid of dogs, I've never seen The Goonies, and that my very existence is a ghastly mistake which will ruin lives, frighten small children, and bruise fruit. Not necessarily in that order. (Slowly the guns and letter openers are put away. TCE looks annoyed, throws down index card) I AM NOT!**

**Alucard: Hey, you said it, not us.**

**Walter: (From downstairs) Dammit, why is all the fruit always bruised?! Don't we have any decent fruit in this entire manor?!**

**Integra: (Smirking) I rest my case.**

**SW: Oh, shut up.**

Chapter One: Rational Conclusions

Inspector Alexandra Cunard, sighed, kicking her black boots up onto her desk and reaching into the front pocket of her shirt for a cigarette, and looked out the window. She has never really liked the scenery in London—of course, considering all the rain, she reasoned, she never really got a chance to enjoy it. For a while she remained in that position, looking out the window of her dimly-lit Scotland Yard office, watching the cars passes by and listening to the rain hit the pavement below. The sound had an almost hypnotic quality to it, but eventually she turned away, turning instead to the paperwork on her desk.

The number of murders had been much higher than usual this summer. Piles of cases rested on the Inspector's desk, a desk which was beginning to creak under the weight. Each case unsolved, each gathering dust, each threatening to be the one that would bring the commissioner down to her damp basement level office to take her badge from her. And they were all beginning to look the same now—a victim, male or female, somewhere between 16 and 50, drained of blood, sucked bone dry. Some who's time of death could be put thirty-six to forty-eight hours before the time they finally hit the pavement, or the sidewalk, or the floor of the office building.

Fourteen coworkers who said, "Yeah, so-and-so was acting kinda strange, but I chalked it up to…"

Thirty-six neighbors who said, "Nah, I didn't notice anything weird…"

Thirty-nine mothers who started crying in the living room, and thirty-two fathers who said, "I always knew this'd happen some day…."

And no perpetrators—yeah, there was that. No logical ones anyway. The only evidence found on few of the scenes was the occasional blood spatter from a person other than the victim or a pile of dust. A shell casing here or there that didn't match any gun in the book.

"I tell you, this was the biggest mistake of my life," Cunard muttered, taking a slow drag on her cigarette.

Inspector Peter Kerns, the officer who shared an office with her, looked up from desk on the other side of the room and smirked. "You say that every day."

"Well, it was," Cunard insisted.

Kerns chuckled. "I'm not sure. Personally, I think that you say that so often that it's lost all meaning, even to you. And besides, secretly, this place has grown on you. You'd never admit it, but it has."

"No it hasn't," Alex muttered, putting out her cigarette on the arm of the chair and wiping the ash on the floor, then discarding the cigarette in a nearby wastepaper basket. "Useless paperwork, endless water cooler gossip, and another dead body waiting for me around every turn. How the fuck could places like this 'grow on me'?"

"It has. Why else would you come here everyday?" Kerns asked, running a hand through his thick black hair and readjusting his glasses. "It can't just be that you feel the need to bitch at someone other than your own reflection."

Cunard looked at him, her expression quizzical, and Kerns sighed. In her past three years here, Cunard remained somewhat of a mystery to him. About five-foot-eight and lean in build, Alex Cunard was an American—born and raised in Back Bay Boston; Kerns had spent some time in the US and could tell by her achingly genteel accent—who had emigrated at the age of twenty-four. A former United States Marine, his partner had a commanding presence, and had a posture that proclaimed that, though she was a relaxed individual, she could deal with anything. Though only twenty-seven, she was an extraordinarily decorated officer, and by far the youngest inspector in decades. She was also an albino—her long, snowy white hair was expertly cut and tied back neatly, and her red eyes were carefully hidden behind circular sunglasses. A dark scar across her throat marked her as either incredibly foolhardy or incredibly lucky. Clad in a pair of black pleated pants and a long-sleeved black pinstriped shirt that was clearly made for a man, she appeared almost spectral.

"Go home," Kerns muttered, shaking his head. "Go get some sleep. You're starting to obsess."

Cunard smirked, grabbing the black blazer she had draped over her chair earlier that afternoon and putting it on. "Are you telling me that I shouldn't be doing everything in my power to find the men responsible for these killings, Peter?"

"No," Peter sighed. "I'm trying to—you're burning yourself out, Alex. And we both know it. How many packs of cigarettes have you gone through today?"

"I hardly think that's pertinent to—"Alex began.

"How many?"

"Two…ish," Alex admitted.

"I've seen a lot of guys do it; they get so wrapped up in a case and in the dead that they forget about the living. I'm just saying there's bound to be a rational explanation for all of this if we just think it through rather than jumping to insane, impossible conclusions. And you obsessing over it isn't going to make it come any faster."

"What insane conclusion? I haven't jumped to an insane conclusion. I haven't jumped to **any** conclusion, and that, my dear Inspector Kerns, is why we have a problem!" Cunard snapped, her tone a bit more defensive than it had been before. As she spoke, she removed a silver watch from her pocket, checked the time, smirked and replaced it in her pocket.

"Oh really?" Kerns smirked, and pointed to a rectangular bulge in Cunard's blazer pocket. "Then why did you start reading Dracula, Inspector Cunard?"

"Oh, this?" Cunard said, pointing to her pocket. "This? This is nothing, Peter, you know that I'm not superstitious or anything, my God, vampires, what a ridiculous notion—I'm clearly………I'm taking a class."

"What?" Kerns said, resting his head on his hand. "Lying Badly 601? You're clearly on the post-grad level in that particular subject."

"Err," Cunard said, grabbing her fedora off of top of the coat rack by the door to their office. "It's a course on Freudian theory. Clearly, after all, the vampire represents the new deviant, dangerous sexuality of the late nineteenth century, while the vampire hunters represent sexual repression in the form of the bourgeoisie marriage and overly spiritualized relationships………you aren't buying a word of this, are you?"

"Nope. It sounded petty convincing though, for a second."

"Damn."

"But you and I both know that there is no such thing as vampires," Kerns said, shaking his head. "And therefore, it is impossible for them to have killed any of those people. There's bound to be—"

"—a rational conclusion," Cunard finished in monotone.

"Exactly."

"But, Peter, I never said—you know that I don't believe in—look, I know that it's—"

"Uh-huh," Peter said, returning to his paperwork. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Alex."

"Really, Pete—"

"Good night, Alex."

Inspector Cunard lit up another cigarette as she left the Scotland Yard building. Shutting her eyes, she took a long drag on her cigarette before heading down a dark side street toward her shitty little studio apartment. Looking up in disgust, she noticed that the streetlights—which had been out of commission for over a week now—were still unfixed. Of course, this is what she got for buying a second-rate apartment, even though its location was rather convenient.

Turning the corner onto an adjacent street, Cunard sighed again, the murder scene of one of the more recent victims still fresh in her mind.

Her name is Anya Rosso, and she is sixteen.

Her limbs are in a position consistent with being attacked from behind. Her acid-washed blue jeans and her black KISS t-shirt are covered in blood. Her blood. Two little bite marks—_fang _marks—are on the right side of her neck. Her brown hair is a mess. Her brown eyes are frozen with horror, and her glasses are askew. Nothing is stolen from her purse. Under the odor of blood and death, one can smell Marlboro Lights and stale liquor.

Her name is Anya Rosso, and she is sixteen, forever. Killed on night like this, on a street like this—quiet streets, the only witnesses to her death were the assailant himself and the dead eyes of dark apartment buildings. Once a warm center of life, now a beautiful miracle of death. Amen.

Anya Rosso.

Anya Rosso.

Anya Rosso.

Cunard shook her head, forcing the image from her exhausted mind, and, for the first time, noticed her elevated heart rate. Pausing in the street, she took two more long drags on her cigarette and flicked the butt off into the darkness, a burning speck of orange contrasting against the dark pavement.

"Get a grip, Cunard," she said to herself quietly. "On a long enough timeline, everyone's survival rate drops to zero."

She was sixteen.

"So was your little brother," Cunard muttered. "But that didn't stop that drunk from moving him down on his bicycle."

Her name is Anya Rosso. She is sixteen. Two little bite marks—_fang_ marks—are on the right side of her neck.

"Rational conclusions," Cunard muttered, clenching her right hand in a fist. "There has to be—there are always—rational conclusions. Death, taxes, and rational conclusions."

From the building to her left, a gunshot suddenly rang out, pulling Cunard from her tumultuous thoughts. Ducking behind a black van and scanning the vicinity, she drew her Colt Detectives' Special from the holster on her belt, and looked for the source of the noise. Another shot rang out—the third floor. Rising from her crouch, she dashed down the narrow alleyway up to a slightly dilapidated fire escape. Climbing as quickly as she could, the gun still in her right hand, she arrived at the third floor. Finding the window locked, she charged with the intent to roll through, careful to shield her eyes from the glass.

The scream of a woman prompted her to rise to her feet and hurry down toward the end of the hallway. And then eerie silence ushered her further.

Cunard paused, putting her back to the wall, next to a door that was somewhat ajar. A pale light emanated from inside. She could hear breathing—two people. One clinging by a thread. In the darkness further down the hallway, she was almost certain that she saw motion—a flash of deep red. An accomplice? Lovely.

"Police!" Cunard yelled, deciding that if the victim was still alive, it made more sense to deal with this psycho's accomplice later. "Drop your weapon and open the door now!"

There was no response from inside the room.

"I'll warn you one more time," Cunard said, undoing the safety of her gun with her thumb. "Drop the weapon now and we'll go much easier on you."

Cunard waited two seconds, and then kicked the door open, holding her gun in her right hand and displaying her Scotland Yard identification. The apartment was in disarray—clearly there had been a bit of a struggle. Fearing for the victim, Cunard increased her pace, heading toward the light coming from the next room. She could see spent shell casings on the ground.

Her gun still in front of her, Cunard came into the room, and yelled, "Freeze!"

Her mouth went dry at the sight in the room. The perpetrator was a young man, maybe eight or nine years her junior, dressed in a fine suit. In his arms was a bloody young woman, shot twice in the stomach. Blood covered every surface.

But that was not the worst, the Inspector realized, going sheet white. The young man had his teeth dug into the right side of her neck.

"Cease and desist!" Cunard repeated. "I hereby place you under arrest…"

The man did neither.

"By order of Scotland Yard—"

He paused, apparently done, and lowered his victim to the ground. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his suit, Alex saw it come away slick with blood. After a moment, he turned and faced the inspector. A seemingly normal young man, the inspector noted—of course, not counting the blood covering his shirt and the sharp incisors in his mouth.

"Scotland Yard?" The youth said, snickering a little. "Scotland Yard holds no sway over me."

"I hereby place you under arrest—"

"What do you intend to do with that gun...Inspector?" the youth asked, drawing a little closer to examine Cunard's badge. Slowly, Cunard took a step backward. In the midst of it all, she noticed that the poor young woman on the floor had stopped breathing.

"You can't stand against me," the Inspector said. "I have a gun, and I am not afraid to use it."

_You shocking, horrible liar_, the Inspector thought.

"A gun, Inspector?" the youth laughed, and Cunard took another step backwards. "No, Inspector. All you have is bullets, and the hope—because that's all it is really, a hope—that when your gun is empty that I am no longer standing, because you don't have any spare rounds on you, do you?"

Cunard remained silent.

"Of course not. Because you haven't fired that particular gun at any point in your tenure at the Yard, have you? And you never thought you would. You never thought that you would one day have to use the symbol of your office, and you never thought you'd have to use it in a situation where, though you hadn't realized it, everything you knew was totally useless."

Cunard heard noise on the floors below, the sound of people coming, and fast. Accomplices? Great. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead into her eye. Nonetheless, as she blinked it back and attempted to ignore the irritation, she kept her gun trained on him, just below his heart.

Clearly the young man had heard the commotion as well, for his eyes widened, and suddenly the smug expression was replaced by something that looked a little more like fear. But why? Cunard had come alone. There was no way that anyone at the Yard could know that she was here.

"You bitch!" the young man seethed. "You…you never said you were with them! You lying little…you…"

The noise drew closer, and the man looked around, trying to figure out his options. After a moment, his eyes settled back on Alex Cunard.

"If I'm going down," he growled, lunging for the Inspector, "then I'm taking at least one of you bastards with me! Starting with you, 'Inspector'!"

Cunard had been prepared for his attack, but not for his incredible strength. The speed and intensity of his charge has forced them both to the floor. He lunged again, going for her throat. Alex attempted to grip his throat, to push him off, only to find that his strength was far greater than hers.

Suddenly, there was a gunshot.

Alex felt blood spatter across her face, and looked up to see that no longer was the young man above her, on top of her, going for her throat. In fact, nothing was on top of her, except for a rather large pile of dust and a silver bullet. Rising to her feet, the Inspector holstered her gun and turned to exit, only to come face to face with, quite easily, the largest handgun she had ever seen. Black and at least 39 cm long, the barrel read "Jesus Christ Is In Heaven Now", an inscription that made Alex blanch further upon reading it.

The man carrying the gun was equally frightening. Clad in a black suit and red jacket and hat, his eyes were blood red and his incisors, too, were impossibly sharp. Seeing the fear on the Inspector's face, he grinned a dark grin that made the Inspector even more nervous.

"Um, well, thank you…sir," Cunard said smoothly. "Scotland Yard gives you its deepest thanks. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think that I'll be on…my…way…I'm not leaving, am I?"

The man said nothing to her.

"Listen, do you want money, or something? 'Cause I don't have any money. I...I have a token. One token. And I need it. So I'm really sorry I can't help you, sir, but I'd like to get back to my apartment. I have leftovers there. True, I don't really like them, but I think it'd be best to get it over with, you know?"

"You aren't going anywhere," he said.

"Listen, do you want to file a complaint or something? I'll…look, just call Internal Affairs, and I'm sure we can have this whole nasty mess figured out by tomorrow."

Suddenly. Alex heard a ban as the door was broken down, and the sound of men entering the apartment. As they came around the corner, Alex saw they were dressed as SWAT troops, except they were no Scotland Yard troops. On the right shoulder, each of the machine-gun toting men had a patch reading "HELLSING".

And, then, quite suddenly, everything went dark.


	2. Welcome to Hellsing

"**The Organization"**

**By: SniperWolf**

**DISCLAIMER: (See Chapter One)**

**Chapter Two: Welcome to Hellsing**

Alex Cunard woke up slowly. Blinking back the light as it assaulted her eyes, she rubbed the back of her head, sitting up slowly. As the world came back into focus, she suddenly realized that much must have transpired while she was removed from the events of the world—for starters, she was no longer in that dank third-floor apartment, but in an ornate bedroom. She had been sleeping, not on her futon at home, but instead in a king-sized bed (ultra-plush by the feel of it, Cunard decided) under silk sheets. Her clothes had been hung up neatly and apparently ironed (_Oh, won't the commissioner be happy!) _ during her stay and upon looking down she noticed she was clad in a silk robe with the letters "IH" carefully embroidered on the pocket. Running one hand through her thick hair, she reached over to the nightstand and picked up her glasses, placing them over her eyes once more. Though he would have been more than happy remaining in bed all day, now was a time for action. She was, after all, one of Scotland Yard's finest, and now it was time to prove it by driving a stake straight into the heart of the matter.

"Hopefully not literally," she muttered to herself. After the weirdness of the previous night or so, she wasn't quite ready for any more surprises—especially those pesky potentially-deadly ones.

As she began to put on her suit—which she was incredibly pleased to find freshly laundered—she heard a knock at the door.

"Uh, yeah, come in," the Inspector said, readjusting her sunglasses and putting her gun back in its holster at her hip.

The door opened to reveal an older man, maybe late sixties or early seventies, with graying black hair and dark eyes. He wore a monocle over his right eye, and was clad relatively formally.

"You're already awake, Inspector? Excellent," the man said politely. "I trust you had a pleasant night—well, true, you were unconscious…and believe me, we're all very sorry about that, really, it's just that one of our people occasionally…has a tendency to…overstep. We're just glad that Sir Hellsing had a spare robe lying around."

Cunard smiled amiably. "Not a problem. Better than I've slept in a long time, thank you, Mr.…ah…?"

"Walter Dornez," the man said, bowing slightly. "Hellsing family butler. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inspector Cunard."

"Hellsing?" Cunard asked, a quizzically expression crossing her features.

"Oh, I suppose that Sir Integra will explain it all to you," Walter said. "She's requesting your presence now, actually."

"Requesting?"

"Demanding," Walter conceded, and then opened the great oak door to its full extent, gesturing out into the hallway. "Now, if you would be so kind, Inspector Cunard?"

"Wait, can we just back up for one moment?" Cunard said, following the older man out into the hallway. "Uh, for starters, where am I?"

"Well," Walter said, leading Alex down a maze of hallways. "You're still in London, if that's what you mean. You're at Hellsing."

"Okay, uh, yeah—now what's a Hellsing?"

"I believe Sir Integra said that she would go into detail about that with you," Walter said quietly.

"There!" Cunard said, pointing. "You said it again?"

"Said what again?"

"Sir Integra!"

"Right."

"But you refer to Sir Integra as 'she'."

"Right."

"So then why is she 'Sir' Integra?"

"Did it ever occur to you that you're over thinking something that really doesn't matter?" Walter asked.

"Once or twice," Cunard said dismissively. "Now, anyhow, who is Sir Integra?"

Walter smiled, opening the door to a rather plain-looking office, with a desk facing the door. Seated there was a tall woman in a green uniform, with slightly darker skin than herself or Walter, and long almost white blonde hair. Her face was beautifully well-proportioned, and her features were possessed of the cold beauty that indelibly came of good breeding. Her best feature as by far her eyes—those ice-blue eyes that sent a chill straight down Alex Cunard's spine. Her face was sternly set as she looked up at the clock.

"The rather angry-looking blonde woman who keeps looking at the clock," Walter said, smiling a little.

"Ah," Cunard said. "I see. Thank you, Mr. Dornez."

"Walter, please," the butler said, smiling. Before Cunard could enter the room however, he added. "One final piece of advice, though—I'd keep that book on you. Might come in handy."

Her eyes widened, and Cunard turned on her heel, only to find that Walter had already gone. Puzzled for a moment, she then remembered the woman behind her and turned around to meet those disapproving eyes. "Good morning, Sir Hellsing…"

"You're late," Integra said coldly, scrutinizing her visitor carefully. "And remove your sunglasses, please."

"Must I?"

Integra did not respond, only looked at her with contempt, until Cunard pocketed the glasses and revealed her red eyes to her.

"Albinism?" the woman said, looking into Cunard's eyes.

"Correct, Sir Hellsing," Cunard said quietly. "Which is why I'd really prefer to have my glasses—"

"Have a seat, please," Integra said, sitting down behind her own desk, "Inspector Cunard."

Deciding it best not to press the issue, Alex took a seat opposite the Spartan desk. After a moment, Integra typed something in on the laptop sitting on the desk and waited. Throughout this the room remained uncomfortably silent. Alex remained silent, looking around the room as she waited, remembering everything important and attempting to siphon out everything that wasn't.

"So," Integra said, "how much did Walter tell you?"

"He told me that you'd tell me everything," Cunard said impatiently, standing once more and coming closer to Integra's desk. "Now listen, I understand that I'm supposed to be cooperating right now, but I'm a bit confused. See, I got knocked out by this asshole in a weird hat that probably saved my life last night and now I'm here. Except no one will tell me where the fuck 'here' is. And I'm really not sure how I got here either. And everybody says that 'Sir Integra's going to tell me'—but no one will tell me who this Sir Integra is and why the hell she's so damn important. I'm trapped in a fucking game of Clue, apparently. So, I'm really sorry I fucked up your sting operation or whatever it was that you people were doing, and it won't happen again. So please, either get me my union representative, or let Colonel Mustard beat my brains in with the candlestick in the billiard room and get it over with already!"

Integra said nothing, just continued to bore into her with those icy eyes. "Are you quite finished, Inspector?"

"Err, yeah. I think I'm good now," Cunard said, nodding.

"Inspector Cunard," Integra said, looking at the screen of the laptop. "It states here that you're an American citizen, born in Massachusetts."

"Yeah, that's right. I am—was—sort of—it's complicated," Cunard said finally. "I'm a citizen of Great Britain now, and I have been for a couple of years."

"And a former U.S. Marine as well, stationed in the embassy in Germany?"

"Yeah, that's true."

"You were an intelligence specialist during your tour of duty?"

"Bingo," Cunard said.

"And you've been with Scotland Yard for…?"

"Three years. Youngest inspector in decades, Sir Hellsing," Cunard said with a hint of pride in her voice. "And one of the most highly decorated at the Yard."

"And yet you've never risen past 'inspector'?" Integra said, raising one eyebrow.

"Let's just say that leadership potential isn't my strong suit, Sir Hellsing."

"Really?" Integra said dismissively, her tone slightly sardonic. "And here I was convinced that holding your tongue wasn't your strong suit. Do you actually have a 'strong suit', Inspector?"

"Of course I have a strong suit," Cunard said, smirking. "I took it to the dry cleaners yesterday, Sir Hellsing."

Integra continued on as if she didn't hear the other woman's flippant comment. "How about communicable diseases?"

"How about them?" Cunard said, nodding.

"Do you have any? Have you been exposed to any?" Integra said, her tone similar to one she might have used if speaking to a child.

"No."

"Do you have a criminal record, Inspector Cunard?" Integra said, reaching into her desk drawer for a cigar, and lighting it with a silver lighter on her desk.

"No," Cunard said, taking her cigarettes out of her pocket. "But I have every album Billy Joel ever released, if you count that."

Integra smirked. "How very droll, Inspector Cunard."

"I like to think so. Say, Sir Hellsing, do you mind if I…" Cunard asked, gesturing to her cigarettes.

"Yes, I do mind," Integra said sharply, glaring at the detective. "You've been very calm, considering everything that's gone on."

"Yeah, well, that's me. The unflappable, unsinkable Inspector Cunard," Alex said wittily, putting her cigarettes away and gritting her teeth a little. "You wouldn't mind actually _telling _me what's going on, would you, Sir Hellsing?"

"You acted very rashly last night, Inspector," Integra said, taking a long draw on her cigar. "And it cost you everything, though you clearly haven't realized it yet. You've already been transferred under the Hellsing Organization's control."

"What…but I…" Cunard began, confused. "What did it cost me? I saved that woman, didn't I? She lived, right?"

"In a manner of speaking," Integra said. "Tell me; are you a virgin, Inspector?"

"Am I a—"Cunard said, a little taken aback.

"Are you a virgin, Inspector Cunard? Have you ever had sexual intercourse with another human being? Don't lie, because I'll know."

"How could you?"

"I will," Integra said coldly.

"Is anyone a virgin, nowadays?" Cunard asked, raising one eyebrow.

"So have you realized what it cost you yet?" Integra asked, resettling her spectacles on her nose.

"My dignity and any right to privacy I had concerning my sex life—or rather, lack thereof?" Cunard said dryly.

"During your daring one-woman raid on the victim's apartment, did her attacker happen to—graze you with his teeth at all? Perhaps bite you by accident?"

"Not that I…" Cunard suddenly felt a spot on her neck where whoever had tended to her had bandaged, and then her hand slipped down to her mouth, where she suddenly noticed that her incisors were sharper than they used to be. "Oh, shit."

Integra nodded. "An accurate assessment. The Hellsing Organization has been, for centuries, in charge of taking care of such vampiric freaks and cosigning them back to oblivion for the preservation of God, Queen and country. You happened to get in the way, and now—well, we had two options. We could have killed you right then and there, but that might have been counterproductive. And letting you go might have proven unwise. Considering your background, however…Alucard knocked you out because we feared that if you were able to comprehend what was going on, you would have made quite a fuss. Some people just can't understand when something doesn't quite seem to have a rational conclusion…"

"Uh, okay, listen," Cunard said. "How much did Peter give you to do this? Because really, I'm impressed. Is there a…camera somewhere? Is he…Walter, is he that guy…you know, from the hidden camera show? Bald, kind of chubby, and really annoying?"

"Does he look bald, fat, and annoying?"

"Okay, look," Cunard said, standing up and heading for the door. "I've…I've really enjoyed being a part of your therapy here, but I think its best that I just leave now…"

"If you leave now," Integra said, her voice deadpan cold. "You will not leave this building before someone puts a silver bullet in your head."

"I'll risk it."

"Don't be stupid. You don't know how to handle this," Integra said coldly. "You will either starve to death or you'll go absolutely bloodcrazed and won't know how to handle it. You'll hurt innocent people, and we both know that you don't want that. I am at least offering you a way out of all that—no one else can guarantee you that."

"Scotland Yard—"

"—already thinks that you're dead," Integra finished. "Which we both know isn't exactly a lie."

Alex looked down at the expensive carpet, her hands balled into fists. As much as she hated to admit it, the smirking blonde bitch had a point. Watching her with a hint of interest in her eyes, Integra smirked as she said, "Well, Inspector Cunard?"

Alex didn't reply.

"Excellent. Now, if you'll be so kind as to head down to the basement level, I believe Walter already has your room set up, Inspector. It's also probably time that you met our other resident freaks and we put you through some basic field training. The sooner we start, the better off you'll be."

Alex smirked, but conceded her defeat. No longer was this about pride—it was about survival. "Yes, Sir Hellsing."

"Excellent. Welcome to Hellsing, Inspector Cunard."


	3. Freaks

"**The Organization"**

**By: SniperWolf**

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah, still don't own Hellsing. Sorry guys. I do, however, own the "unflappable, unsinkable Inspector Alex Cunard."**

_Author's Notes: Yeah, third chapter in three days. Jeez, I need a hobby. Okay, so this chapter is __not__ intended to be as funny—it's simply kind of a segway to introduce our other all-important Hellsing characters and establish "dynamics" and "character development" and "rising action" and various other big words that writers like to say to make what they're doing sound terribly complicated. Even though they know full well that if you had infinite monkeys at infinite typewriters, one of them would wind up typing the script to __Hamlet_

**Chapter Three: Freaks**

Inspector Alex Cunard strode out of Integra's office feeling enraged, intrigued, and pathetic. She knew, of course, that "Sir Hellsing" had been baiting her—and seemed to be enjoying it. Really, there was nothing funny about the situation. And now, all because of her pathetic pathological need to be a hero, she was dead…ish.

_Well, in a sense, anyway, _she thought, feeling the bandage at her neck.

As Cunard stepped out into the hallway, she slammed the door to Sir Integra's office behind her, swearing a little under her breath. Sighing and leaning against the wall, she paused to retrieve a cigarette from her pocket, lit it up and took a long drag, relaxing in the dark hallway.

"Another one, eh?" came a voice from the dark. "At least it isn't hurting you anymore—you're already dead, for all intents and purposes. Sir Integra, however…"

Cunard jumped a little, her hand on her gun—she hadn't even heard Walter come up behind her. After realizing who it was, she relaxed a little.

"I didn't realize that you hadn't heard me," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's not you."

"Still…"

"It's all right, Walter," Cunard said, "I just don't think I can take anymore surprises today."

"So she told you everything?"

"In a kind of roundabout way that involved the Questionnaire From Hell. I've never had anyone ask me about whether or not I was a virgin in a job interview before."

"She was just being difficult," Walter said, smiling. "She already knew that you were a virgin."

"How…?"

"You would have become a ghoul if you weren't." Seeing the confusion on Cunard's face, he added: "its rather common knowledge in this field. When the pure are fed upon by a vampire of the opposite sex, another vampire is created. When the person isn't pure…well, then you get a ghoul—nothing more than a vampire's servant."

"Ah. Okay," Cunard said, nodding, making a mental note to get Sir Hellsing back for that later, somewhere along the line. "Anyway, Sir Hellsing said something about having a space ready for me in the basement? And something about 'resident freaks'?"

"Ah, yes. I believe you met one of them, briefly," Walter said, leading her down the hallway. "Really, I'm surprised, though. You took all that very well. I figured you for the type that would have resisted tooth and nail to Sir Integra."

Cunard shrugged. "She was right. I need her help, no matter what I may profess. And the thought of dying…again…really doesn't sound all that appealing. But maybe, now that I'm dead, I simply don't have the passion for arguing that I once possessed. Or maybe she just totally floored me with her 'virgin' remarks. Is she always like that?"

"Sir Integra?" Walter asked.

"Who else?"

"She's…something," Walter said. "She inherited the position from her father, Arthur Hellsing—"

"The guy who's picture is in her office?"

"Yes. Well, she took his position at the age of twelve, after narrowly avoiding being murdered by her uncle, and awakening your friend from last night," Walter said, opening the door into to the basement chamber for the inspector, and allowing her to proceed in ahead of him.

"My friend from last…?"

_Don't tell me you have already forgotten, Inspector?_

The voice in head was not her own, and she jumped back with fright, her cigarette dropping from her mouth onto the floor. She was almost certain that she'd heard the voice before.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is…?"

_Your memory is rather pitiful, Inspector. I'm surprised—I've been told that you were rather competent once._

"Inspector Cunard?" Walter said, a hint of concern slipping into his voice.

"It's all right, Walter," said the same disembodied voice, this time out loud. Inspector Cunard jumped, as she saw the man from last night, the man who had knocked her out the night before, appear before them, coming straight through a solid stone wall to their position. He was just as intimidating as last night, if not more so. He grinned his evil grin again, his blood red eyes meeting the Inspector's from over their sunglasses. "So, this is Integra's new pet, the Scotland Yard official."

"Pet?" Cunard said, irked.

"Don't be hard on her, Alucard," Walter said quietly. "This one has had a rough time of it. But I'm beginning to think that we have a divining rod that Integra's not telling us about—between Cunard and Seras…"

"No good deed goes unpunished, does it, Inspector Cunard?" Alucard said sardonically. Anger rose in Alex Cunard, and she lunged at the other vampire, pulling her gun from its holster, and taking aim at him.

"Inspector! Alucard!" Walter said warningly, but preparing to duck in case things went bad. (Really, in his time with Hellsing, he had come to understand that it was best not to get involved in such disputes.)

Alucard looked at the Inspector's weapon dismissively. "It's going to take more than that to eliminate me, Inspector. If it could be done. This, however,"—Alucard took this moment to pull out his own gun—"is the Jackal, and I will most likely only need one shot. Unless you've progressed much further than I thought in the nine hours you has been a vampire. Which I doubt."

The Inspector grimaced, looking from her Colt Detectives' Special to his 'Jackal', as he called it.

"So really, you have to understand," Alucard continued, almost conversational, "if I have to shoot you, I'm going to be a little angry—and my Master will most certainly be angry with me. This means I may have to shoot a few more holes in you to make up for it all, because you might not be dead when you hit the floor."

Cunard grimaced, but kept her gun trained upon him. Slowly, she lowered it, eventually holstering it. But she didn't like it.

"Good, Inspector. Nice to see they taught you something in the military. Now that we understand the chain of command, maybe you'll think before you act so rashly. Especially not to the only person with the capability to help you understand yourself in your current state," Alucard said coldly. "I understand that this is a long way down from the top of the world for you, but get used to it. You're a freak now, and you're never going to be human again. There's no middle ground for a timid evening walker."

"Alucard, let her be—"Walter began.

"I'm going to see Master," Alucard said coldly. "We'll deal with you later, Inspector—something tells me that in your current state you wouldn't handle direct sunlight…at all."

"All right," Walter said. "I'm going to continue on with the Inspector, then."

The other vampire disappeared; continuing on his way to see his Master, and Inspector Cunard could not ay that she was all that unhappy to see him go. Her eyes followed him until he passed through another wall. After she was sure that the other vampire was gone, she continued on down the hall.

"So, that's Alucard," the Inspector muttered.

"Yes, one of two…well, now three… of our residential vampires," Walter said.

"So, we're an organization dedicated to destroying vampires, and yet we have three of them in our headquarters. That's an interesting one."

"Now, now, Inspector—it may be hypocritical when you think about it, but it does certainly keep the casualty levels down for the men who risk their lives for Queen and country. Hasn't anyone ever told you that there is rarely such a thing as a—"

"—rational conclusion?" The Inspector finished, rolling her eyes.

"Exactly."

"Yeah, I've heard something like that," she said gravely, thinking of Peter. "Walter?"

"Yes?"

"Is their anyway that I'd be allowed to leave here? Make a visit to London—perhaps grab a couple of things from my apartment? See, I really didn't plan on getting bitten by a vampire and winding up at a secret vampire fighting agency, so I really didn't think to bring any luggage with me…?"

"That, Inspector Cunard, is quite out of the question," Walter said. "We went to a great deal of trouble to orchestrate your death, and we can't have people seeing you walking around—do you know what that would do to us?"

"No one will see me, I won't stop to chat. I just want a spare suit, maybe my copy of Journey's Greatest Hits, feed my cat. You know."

"Impossible," Walter said sternly. "Sir Hellsing wouldn't even consider it. That and we had a team blow up your apartment last night. You 'left the gas on' apparently, you didn't notice anything because you had a severe head cold, and you decided that you wanted a cigarette. And, well, ka-boom."

"You _blew up_ my apartment?"

"What would have had us do? Someone would have most certainly asked questions if you simply disappeared without a trace. At least this way, odds are that people might think you were incinerated."

After a few moments of intense silence, Cunard muttered, "Wow. What a way to go, too. I hope the cat made it out okay."

"I know," Walter agreed. "I keep telling Sir Integra that smoking kills. She simply doesn't believe me"—as he spoke he began to open a large wooden door—"but I digress. Welcome to your new home, Inspector."

Inspector Cunard entered, to find herself in an austere stone room. A single light from the ceiling provided dim light, and a table with a single chair sat in the center of the room. Off to one side was a door that she assumed led to a shower of some kind, or perhaps a closet. On the opposite side lay a simple wooden coffin.

"Oh yeah," Cunard said weakly. "This just screams 'home' to me."

Cunard turned suddenly, hearing footsteps coming down the hallway, drawing closer to the room. After a moment, a young girl of maybe nineteen or twenty years, clad in a Hellsing uniform appeared in the doorway, smiling at Walter and eyeing Cunard with curiosity.

"Ah, Miss Seras!" Walter said. "Exactly who I was hoping we'd run into."

"I thought I heard you down here, Walter," Seras said pleasantly, a nice change from the Prozac poster children that Cunard had been meeting all day. "We have a newcomer?"

"Indeed we do. She'll be staying here," Walter said, turning to leave. "As I have other duties to perform, why don't I leave you and Miss Seras to get acquainted? I'll be by later with your dinner, Inspector. Try not to get into too much trouble."

"Thanks, Walter," Cunard said, as the old man exited the room and headed for the upper floors.

"Inspector…?" Seras said quizzically. "No way you're…are you Alex Cunard?"

"Sadly," Cunard muttered.

"Jesus…when I was at the academy, my instructor idolized you—I mean, didn't you hold the highest volume of solved cases in all of Scotland Yard?"

"At one time," Cunard said quietly.

"But what…why are you—"she started, quieting down as she saw the bandage across her throat. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Cunard agreed, beginning to climb into the coffin. "Tried to break up an attack and well, here I am."

"You'll get used to it," Seras said, placing a hand on the Inspector's shoulder. "But I'm surprised to see you here—I wouldn't have pegged you for a virgin. You're what, almost thirty? I mean, come on. Even that guy…you know 'Bat Out of Hell'…?"

"You mean Meat Loaf?" Cunard offered.

"Yeah, him. I mean, even he's a bit of a weirdo, but I bet even he's been shagged at least once!"

"You know, you really aren't making me feel any better," Cunard said, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Jesus Christ, is it eternity yet?"


	4. Basics

"**The Organization"**

**By: SniperWolf**

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't own Hellsing. Still own Inspector Cunard.**

_Author's Notes: Now, I wanted to take the time to address all of the points brought up by my reviewers (Cunard's first blood experience, her weapon, etc.), and still move forward with the plot (because, believe it or not, I've kind-of-sort-of got one). So, for my loyal reviewers, here it is. I'm going to attempt to multitask for once—let's see how well I do. "XXX" indicates a scene change from the current timeline to a flashback scenario—get your mind out of the gutter. By the way, I'm going to be busy working this weekend—I'll try to have the next chapter up by Tuesday, and I'll try to make it a longer one to make up for it._

_Sorry!_

_-SW_

**Chapter Four: Basics**

"Inspector, can you hear me?" the voice of Walter said, coming through the earpiece of her headset. "Hello?"

"Loud and clear, Walter," Cunard replied. "How goes it?"

Cunard was sitting atop a hill, outside of a small Scottish town. Though snow covered the ground, the Inspector hardly noticed the cold; in fact, she'd taken the time to build herself a small chair out of the snow as she sat, resting against a tree and enjoying the feel of the night air. It had been almost three months since she had been turned, and slowly, she'd adjusted to it—in fact, she'd astonished even Alucard with hr progress and potential. Clad in dark wash jeans, a beige colored linen shirt and a pair of black boots, Cunard reached for a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

"Fine on this end. Sir Integra wished for me to go over the plan with you one more time. Welcome to Scotland, Inspector. Have you ever been up to this part of the country before?"

"Once," Cunard said. "I came up here with my ex-partner, he tricked me into eating haggis, and I never came back here again. Never been this far into this part of the country, though."

"Never left London much?"

"Never left _work_ much," Cunard said bitterly.

"All right then .Well, there's a map of the area in your pocket, but I doubt you'll need it; we can see that you've already gotten yourself into a decent scouting position—nice choice by the way. Anyway, we've heard rumors of vampire activity in this region, reportedly in the warehouse building directly in front of you, Inspector. Between three and five of them. How do you propose--?"

"Alucard is going in first, and I'm going to follow. The police girl will be waiting outside on this one, to provide artillery support and in case any of them actually make it that far. I've only seen three people go in—one through the front and two through the back—so we're going to hold off for at least another ten minutes. We expect to have everything wrapped up in half an hour, maybe forty minutes, and we'll then meet you guys back at your location, ETA 2200 hours," Cunard said quickly. Her training as an Intelligence specialist had proven instrumental—no longer did they go in without a plan; if there was to be chaos, the Inspector reasoned, it would be carefully organized chaos.

"Did you bring slugs or buckshot?" Walter asked, now referring to the gun at the side of her makeshift chair.

"Slugs—I figured we'd be in close quarters; buckshot would do just as much harm to us as to them."

"Excellent. We'll leave you to it then. Sir Integra reminds you—in the most threatening way possible, using words I dare not repeat—not to miss."

"Aye, aye. See you later, Walter. Cunard out."

Sitting back and stretching, Cunard smiled a little, thinking of Sir Hellsing's comments and of her first day of training—the day she'd proven Sir Hellsing wrong about her…

XXX

_She'd tried to tune out all of the little distractions as she loaded the gun she had been given—a Colt M1911, a toy compared to many of the other guns Alex had owned during her lifetime, including the M16 the Corps had issued her—and took aim at a paper target with the outline of a human some three hundred feet ahead. She ignored the fact that Sir Hellsing was standing behind her, watching the entire proceeding with Alucard, smoking and looking sort of amused. Walter sat in a chair beside her, to watch her shots—that she didn't mind as much—at least he had the courtesy to sit where she could see him; he knew how much having people behind her bothered her. _

_Remember, Inspector, Alucard said to her telepathically. This is a test. Aim as you would as a human—we'll get into adjusting your aim later, so you won't be missing like a human. _

_Right, Cunard replied. Let's see if my years as Sergeant Alexandra Cunard paid off…_

_Almost as if she too had been privy to the conversation, Integra, looking rather amused said, "All right then. Let's see if they taught you anything in the U.S. Marines, Inspector Cunard—and how much taxpayers' money we're wasting. Fire six rounds—when you're finished place the gun down and engage the safety, and we'll take it from there."_

_Alex bit her tongue a little, and resisted grimacing. It had only been a day since she had been turned, and she still needed frequent reminders of how sharp her teeth were. Resisting the urge to do some creative cursing, the Inspector instead fired her first shot._

"_Not bad," Walter said squinting his eyes a little as he strained to see the target, "looks good, Inspector."_

_Tuning out all those little distractions, just as she had learned to do back on Parris Island, and took her next five shots without pausing, even to readjust her aim. She'd gotten a bit rusty since Germany, but it was nothing that couldn't be corrected with time and effort. Finished now, she did as she had been commanded to do, and placed the gun on a small table nearby. Integra pressed a button on the wall, and the paper target came forward, stopping a few feet from the Inspector's face. Walter stood, studying it closely, and Integra moved closer to see. Only Alucard hung back, an amused look on his face. The target in front of her was undamaged, with the exception of a single hole through the center of its head. _

"_Only one out of six, Inspector?" Integra said, a hint of amusement creeping into her voice. "I was expecting better."_

"_Out of practice is all," Walter said, nodding. "Too much time at your desk, Inspector. You should have readjusted your aim before you kept firing. The kickback is probably what got you, sorry to say. Not surprising though; you haven't eaten in the two days you've been here, so it's understandable that you're a bit weak…"_

_Alucard chuckled in the back, and all three turned to face him as he drew closer to them. Pausing for a moment, he stopped, and picked up one of Cunard's spent shell casings off of the floor. "Humans are rather pathetic. But not so much this one—perhaps we may have a half-decent No Life King…"_

_Cunard smiled a half-grin. "Thanks, I guess."_

"_What are you on about?" Integra asked sharply, one eyebrow raised. "Even the police girl could hit the target more than once on her first day, and she didn't drink any blood for ages."_

"_Ah, human eyes," Alucard said, chuckling a little, and playing with the casing. "So frail and so…amusing. So easily fooled"—he held the casing up to the target, gleaming in the light, and showed that the bullet was much smaller than the bullet hole itself—"and unable to tell the difference between a single lucky shot and perfect aim. That hole, Master, is far too large to have been made by a single bullet."_

_Integra's eyes widened, and she dropped her cigar._

"_You…" Walter stared at her, astonished. "You put…you…six times?"_

XXX

Cunard chuckled a little, picking up her gun from alongside her ice throne and placing it on her lap. Walter had been the one to prepare it for her. She smiled a little, remembering the day Walter had brought it to her.

XXX

_It had been a month ago. The first snow covered the ground, and tonight they had decided to forgo training—Alucard had other business elsewhere, and not being one to pry, the Inspector had stayed in her room, reading. Though the room had been bare two months ago, no longer. Walter, who Sir Integra had long accused of "humanizing Cunard", would take a small portion of the stipend he received from Sir Integra to bring the Inspector a couple of small items now and again. Every couple of weeks or so he would leave a paper bag in her room, containing two paperback novels, and, usually, a bar of chocolate (he would never buy her cigarettes, she noticed by the fourth package; she had to trade with the regular Hellsing soldiers for that, or swipe a cigar off of Sir Integra's desk if she was feeling particularly daring). Since then, the copy of Dracula that had sat alone on the shelf above her coffin had been joined by the works of T.S. Eliot, T.H. White, Edgar Allan Poe, Albert Camus, and others._

_As she sat up in her coffin, reading through her new copy of __The Once and Future King, __she perked up, hearing footsteps—someone coming toward Cunard's basement lair. Shrugging, Cunard returned to her book. Ruddy supersensitive hearing. Ignoring the footsteps for a while, the visitor didn't even have a chance to knock before Cunard said, "Come in."_

_The door opened to reveal Walter, dressed in his usual attire but with a thick overcoat, and covered in a fine layer of snow. He was carrying two large black cases—one much thinner and longer, one large and bulky—and smiled as the Inspector stood up to meet him, "Good evening, Inspector."_

"_Good evening, Walter," Cunard said, as Walter placed the large cases on the table. "What brings you here? I thought tonight was your night off?"_

"_Oh, nothing much. While I had some time to work, I finished up your new weapon."_

"_New weapon?"_

"_Of course you needed a new weapon, Inspector," Walter said, as he began to open one of the cases. "You didn't intend to go around killing the undead with that little toy that Scotland Yard gave you, did you?"_

"_Not anymore," Cunard muttered, putting a piece of paper in her book to mark her page. "So, what have you brought me?"_

"_Well, from what we saw at the range, you seem to have a thing for big, loud, door-busting guns," Walter said, opening the lid and removing what was easily the largest shotgun that Cunard had ever seen. "You looked at the Colt you were given like a water pistol. So this lovely toy we like to call Armageddon is just for you. It's a semi-automatic shotgun, so you can fire additional rounds single-handed, and can hold eight bullets at a time. It uses specialized rounds—we've got both slugs and buckshot for you. Sir Integra originally wanted something like a twenty-inch barrel, but I cut it down to sixteen to increase muzzle velocity. In the box is a three-way sling so you can do crazy things like hip fire and shoulder carry this beast."_

_Alex took the shotgun from Walter, enjoying the feel of it in her grip. The weight, which might have killed her a month ago, was comfortable in her grip. She smiled, looking up at Walter. "Thank you."_

"_Oh, and that's not all," Walter said, starting on the second case. "I noticed you lurking in Sir Integra's study yesterday."_

"_Look, I'm sorry about that. I didn't know it was hers; the door was open, and…"_

"_I'm not here to chastise you. I noticed you playing with a Hellsing family heirloom…"_

"_What…?"_

"_The sword. It belonged to Sir Integra's late grandfather, and her father after that…"_

"_If she's mad at me, do tell her I'm sorry, and that it won't happen again, Walter—"_

"_No, no," Walter said, chuckling. "She doesn't even know. I just thought…"—he opened the case to reveal a shining silver rapier, a fine blade with the Hellsing emblem neatly embossed on the blade. "…that maybe you might like something similar. It's an almost exact replica, with a couple of minor distinctions; firstly, this sword is a bit longer, and the blade is thicker and a bit heavier."_

"_Nice," Alex said, shifting the shotgun to her shoulder and hefting the blade in her right hand. "Very nice."_

"_Good to hear," Walter aid approvingly. "Now that you have some new toys—"_

"_Yes?" Alex said hopefully._

"—_There's a raccoon in the garbage, and I think you could make short work of it."_

_XXX_

Cunard finished her cigarette and put it out on her snow throne. Then, digging around in the snow beside the chair for a minute, she returned with a blood pack, slightly wet, but freezing cold. Ripping the package open with her teeth, she sat back, sipping the chilled, slightly salty liquid. She still wasn't too crazy about the taste, but it was a slight improvement. She chuckled a little, thinking about the first time Walter had brought her blood…

XXX

_It had been only Alex Cunard's second night at Hellsing. It had been raining for much of the late afternoon, and as darkness approached the storm seemed to kick up further, nearly rattling the heavy windows in their panes. Lying in her coffin, staring at the ceiling, Cunard wondered how much time had passed. After doing some work at the firing range, Alucard and his master had, for the most part, left her alone—the only time either of the two had disturbed her was when Sir Integra had thrown something at the elder vampire for stealing her eyeglasses. Looking at her watch, she sighed. For everyone's blathering on about how the human race was running straight into oblivion, it certainly took a long enough time in coming._

_There came a knock at the door. At that, Alex perked up a little, sitting up in her coffin._

"_Whatever you're selling, I don't want any," she muttered bitterly._

"_Inspector?" said the voice from the other side of the door. "It's Walter. I have your dinner ready, if you're hungry."_

_Cunard sighed. As much as she was loath to admit it, she had been getting a bit hungry. Sighing, she stood up and took a seat at her table._

"_All right, all right," Cunard said. "Come in, Walter."_

_Walter then opened the door, a small tray and bowl in one hand. As he placed it down on the table, the Inspector saw that it was filled with a thin red liquid. Scrutinizing it closely, the Inspector's eyes widen and she fell backwards in her chair._

"_What…what's the big idea here, Walter!"_

"_What are you talking about, Inspector?"_

"_The bowl!"_

"_Yes, well, I don't like the fine china either, but it's a Hellsing family thing and Sir Integra…"_

"_No, no! I mean, what's in the bowl!"_

"_Its blood," Walter said, as if nothing that was going on right now was in any way out of the ordinary for him._

"_EXACTLY!"_

"_You don't like Type O? I thought Type O was universal."_

"_THERE IS BLOOD IN THIS BOWL!"_

_Walter was silent for a moment, and then replied, "Yes."_

"_What? This is my—"_

"_Are you forgetting what you are, Inspector?" _

"_Fucking creeped out is what I am!" Inspector Cunard said, picking herself and the chair up from the floor. "You're crazy, the whole lot of you!"_

"_You are a vampire, Inspector. Unless you get used to eating like one, your powers will weaken and then you will die. Now," Walter said, his voice authoritative. "Eat."_

"_I...what?"_

"_Eat now." Walter said sternly._

"_Walter—"_

"_Inspector—"_

"_No—"_

"_You have to--"_

"_I will not—"_

"_Damn it all, you're behaving like a child."_

"_Am not," Cunard muttered under her breath._

"_Will you just drink the blood?" Walter asked. "Is it really that hard?"_

_The Inspector was silent._

"_This isn't the end for you, you know," Walter said quietly. "You might live for hundreds of years—which must be a frightening prospect. But personally, I think I'd like it better if I was able to influence the future rather than have to sit silently by and watch, or to die before I saw it, if I knew that seeing it was within my grasp. It all seems rather foolish to me."_

_Shaking his head, Walter turned to leave, shaking his head as he walked away, leaving Inspector Cunard to stare at the bowl of blood. Her Type-O Doom._

_Hours later, when Walter returned in the daylight hours, the bowl was empty, and he noticed a bit of red at the corner of the slumbering Inspector's mouth._

XXX

Having finished the blood pack, the Inspector stashed the bag in her pocket, as not to leave more proof of her being here. Eyes still trained on the warehouse, the Inspector smirked, watching as two more people entered the building from the front door.

_Did you see that, Inspector?_ Alucard asked.

_Of course_, she replied, smirking.

_Are you coming then?_

_Of course,_ the Inspector replied, kicking over her snow throne. _Tell Seras to be ready._

Securing her sword and loading her gun, Inspector Cunard smirked, thinking about how sorry those bastards would be when Hellsing caught up with them. Pumping the shotgun, she strode off down the hill and into the darkness.

**Author's Notes: A fairly interesting chapter, I think. Not as funny, though. I worked a forty-hour weekend, so you can't expect too much of me right now. Next chapter should be up by Wednesday; Thursday maybe.**


	5. Monster

"**The Organization"**

**By: SniperWolf**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own Hellsing. Do own Inspector Cunard.**

**Chapter Five: Monster**

Alex Cunard smirked as she entered the darkened warehouse. Wooden crates were piled high, preventing any light from getting into the center of the building, where their quarry was undoubtedly located. Alucard had no doubt already entered—he was coming in the other way, as to both confuse them and box them in. With an agility she was still unused to possessing, the Inspector scaled her way up to the top of the wall of crates, and peered into the center of the building below. Crouching down, the Inspector shifted the shotgun to her shoulder and drew her blade, which shone dully in the darkness. She smirked. The shotgun, while excellent, would almost certainly be overkill in this situation.

In the center of the room were five young men—more boys then men, Cunard thought, snorting—clad in leather jackets, with piercings and tattoos on their bodies. Kids. Teenaged boys who didn't know what kind of can of worms they'd opened, what kind of threat had come out of Pandora's Box to bring them to justice. A pile of blood-drained corpses lay in a corner, and in another were two young girls, bound and gagged, squirming against their bonds—dinner. Ridiculous of Integra to send all three of them after these children, Cunard realized. There had to be a catch.

_Do you sense something wrong too? _Alucard asked.

_Yeah. Why would Integra send all three of us?_

_Let's just finish this. _

_Go ahead, _Cunard thought bitterly.

_Ladies first, _Alucard thought sardonically.

Cunard stayed crouched down for a moment, watching the scene below unfold. Two of the young men dragged the girls into the center of the room. One must have been fifteen, the other perhaps nineteen.

"So," one of them said. "Which one do you want?"

"The blonde," said one of the men, smirking, undressing her with his eyes. "First I'll rape her, and then I'll kill her. You boys are welcome to the other one."

_They're going to… _Cunard began angrily.

_Yes, Inspector. You know, for a seasoned police officer, you have a very naïve world-view. They are going to rape them, Inspector, and they are going to feed. If you act now, Inspector, you might be able to stop them, and save those two girls, _Alucard responded nonchalantly.

_Me? But what about you?_

_Me? I'm here to watch, Inspector. Nothing more. This is your moment._

_Alucard!_

_So what's it going to be, Inspector?_

XXX

"Are you sure we should have just tricked her like that?" Walter asked, leaning back on the desk of the little makeshift office they had set up at the police barricade. "I mean, honestly, what if she thinks we're the bad guys in all of this?"

"She wouldn't think that," Integra said smoothly, taking a deep breath, inhaling smoke and then letting it out slowly. "She knows that she needs us to survive. She knows that if she tries anything I will have Alucard on her without a second thought. Remember, she is not bound to us as the police girl and Alucard are. She was sired by another vampire—Alucard has no more control over her than he does the trash we kill."

"Right. But really, the Inspector's quite a reasonable person, I'm sure she would have gone along with this right willingly if we'd asked her…"

"Of course she's a reasonable person. Right up until she forgets herself and bites you, Walter. You humanize her, Walter. That's your first mistake."

"She wouldn't bite me," Walter said confidently.

"Walter—"

"Sir Integra," Walter said, a wry look crossing his features, "she has trouble drinking donated blood, never mind actually biting to feed. If she had to bite to feed, she'd starve to death first. She just can't bring herself to hurt anyone like that."

"Well she'd better learn," Integra said coldly. "Otherwise, she won't survive."

XXX

Cunard gritted her teeth as she sized up her options. If she did this, people would die. If she didn't do this—she understood now; if she didn't do this, Alucard would see to it that she didn't leave this tiny village alive. This was a trial by fire, Cunard realized, and the penalty for failure was death.

_So, what will you do, Inspector? I'd make a decision fast now; they're starting to tear at the blonde human's shirt._

Unbidden, the image of Anya Rosso returned to her mind, sixteen and not-so-innocent, sixteen and in way over her head, sixteen forever. And then the woman in the apartment began to scream once more, being subdued, being sucked dry of blood. The two little scars on her own neck, her own unbeating heart, and her cold skin. Three lives taken. Two snuffed out and destroyed, one cursed to walk this world forever.

Alucard smiled as he saw the pupils of the Inspector's red eyes contract, and her breathing become a little more rapid. Her muscles tensed. Human muscles are so eloquent, he realized, picking up on a soft snarl being emitted by the Inspector—they betray their next move long before the mind even makes a decision as to what it's going to do.

_Police girl! _Alucard called telepathically to Seras.

_Master? _The younger officer replied.

_You might want to pack up the Harkonnen. Something tells me that we aren't going to be in need of your services tonight._

With a speed Alucard did not expect of such a fledgling vampire, the Inspector dove from her position into the center of the room, where the oldest of the boys was already preparing to rape his bound victim. Everything stopped and the boys drew weapons, the leader dropping his quarry to retrieve a what Cunard could see was an Uzi machine pistol.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?" he said, smirking.

"Inspector Alexandra Cunard," Cunard said, smirking. "Former Scotland Yard, and a trashman for the Hellsing Organization."

"Hellsing, huh?" the boy said, unimpressed. "So this is all they can throw at us, huh? Now, I don't know if anybody told you this, bitch,"—he said, showing off his larger-than-normal incisors—"but you ain't dealing with regular humans. You're dealing with five immortal vampires."

"Really now?" Cunard said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you lousy fuck, we are," he said coolly. "Came up from London. If you were Scotland Yard, you must know about the hell we raised right in your own backyard."

Cunard's anger rose, picturing the mutilated corpse of Anya Rosso, and the distraught looks on the faces of her grieving parents, and the way her little sister cried at the funeral. "You…you…"

"We killed thirty-nine people, bitch. You're people may have gotten one of us," he said, undoing the safety on his gun. "But there's no way you'll get five more."

Cunard roared, lunging at one of the men closest to her with a speed they all found surprising. She found his throat, and pinned him back to the boxes, and drawing the sword up, and slicing through his throat. He reached up to grab her but couldn't get a good grip, and blood sprayed her face as she tore through his throat. He gurgled, as if trying to scream, and then was silent. A second one was behind her now, and grabbed the back of her neck before she had time to draw the sword out of the dead man's neck. Reaching around with her right hand as he attempted to pull her back, she grabbed the gun from her hip and blind-fired a shot.

The noise was deafening, and she felt his grip falter. She shook him off to find she had shot straight through his heart. Two more came at her from the other side of the room, and from the center the boy who was their leader began to shoot in her direction. She wrenched the sword out of the box, diving behind another box for cover.

"Oh, fuck," Cunard said, pumping the shotgun, "When it rains, it fucking pours."

As they drew closer, Cunard jumped atop the box she was hiding behind, and grabbed one man in a chokehold from behind. She turned with inhuman speed, and, before realizing what he had done, the leader shot off a volley of bullets, sending them into the man, who jerked in Cunard's grip, and died. He'd killed the wrong man. Now without a shield, Cunard ran for the other man, who was coming round her other side, and rammed him in the solar plexus, dropping him, and then diving behind another box. Before he realized she was behind him, Cunard pulled the trigger on Armageddon once more, putting a shot clean through his head.

Coming out from behind the box, she was rammed full force by the last man, who pile-drove her back into the back wall of crates. In a blinding flash of silver, Cunard's own sword went clean through her left arm at the elbow joint, and into the crates in the back, pinning her two the wall. The man pulled back, smirking, and reaching for something in his pocket.

"Not so tough now, are we, Inspector Hellbitch? You fucker, you…I'm not letting you die easy now…"—Cunard noticed that he now had a set of brass knuckles (instead made out of silver) on his right hand—"not for what you did to 'em."

"You wouldn't da—"

His fist connected with the left side of Cunard's face, and she felt herself begin to bleed. Again. She felt bones crack. Again, again, again. He then pulled back to admire his handiwork. When he did, Cunard could see that on his chest he wore the badge of a local police officer. Reaching her right hand into her pocket, and though the right half of her face was unresponsive, she smiled and began to chuckle.

"What's so funny, asshole? You're going to die. What the hell's so fucking funny?"

"Someone's going to die, yes,"—with superhuman speed, Cunard drew her old Colt Revolver, which Walter had since made some improvements to—"but it isn't me."

Kicking him backwards, Cunard fired four shots—three landing straight through his badge into his heart, another through his left eye, and blood and brain matter exploded out the other side. He then fell down, dead. Pacing the gun back in her pocket, she smirked, and wrenched the sword out of her arm. Alucard watched, a little puzzled, as the blade came out clean. _No blood. Nothing._

With an air of great dignity and anger, Cunard went over to the body of the last man, and sliced through his neck with her blade. A smile crossed Alucard's face and a dark laugh escaped him as he watched the Inspector partake of the blood that flowed freely from the wound.

XXX

"Everything's gone quiet up there," the senior most police officer said to Integra Hellsing. "Did your people handle it, Sir Hellsing?"

"Undoubtedly," Integra said, lighting up another cigar.

"She did it, then?" Walter said quietly.

"Seems like it. We'll have to see," she said quietly. Then, to the policeman, "My people have done the heavy lifting. I'd recommend sending some of yours to extract the hostages, Officer…?"

"Inspector," the man corrected. "Inspector Kerns."

"Inspector?" Integra asked.

Kerns nodded. "I'm technically homicide, but we've been a bit short staffed since my partner died a couple months back. Gas leak."

Walter winced a little, but hid it well.

"Well, I'd get to it, Mr. Kerns," Integra said impassively, and the ma nodded, walking over to give commands to the SWAT Team leader. Integra then gestured, and Walter turned to see three figures coming up the hill—one red clad, one girl in a uniform, and a woman in a tan shirt that was not stained blood red, the right side of her face bearing a strong resemblance to raw hamburger, and a hole in her left sleeve, exposing paleness beneath. "Well, Walter, it looks like Cunard delivered."

"Indeed."

"Not too bad for five on one, don't you think?"

"Indeed," Walter said, his conviction not as strong this time.

"It's interesting," Integra said quietly. "For a law enforcement officer and a prominent one at that, she has the personal history as thick as a postage stamp. See what you can find on her Walter. Let's see who our monster really was in life."

XXX

Father Enrico Maxwell looked up as the door to his Vatican office was opened. A look of distaste crossing his stern features, he glared at the younger priest who had come in, who had dared disturb him during his work. He resettled his glasses on his nose and slammed down his pen.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"F-forgive me, Father Maxwell," the man said. "We just thought—this report just came in from Scotland. Hellsing's been up there…"

"Scotland isn't under our jurisdiction," Maxwell said coldly. "They're filthy Protestants—let Hellsing have them."

"No, sir. The incident has already been handled—it's just that…we'll we have the photos from a security camera in the warehouse.

The priest placed a manila folder down on Maxwell's desk, and he began to flip through the eight-by-ten images inside. The first two, which showed the carnage after what must have been a battle he passed by, and then flipped by the next two, showing little interest. At the fourth one, he stopped, examining the fight scene critically. His eyes widened as he realized what the photos were showing him.

"They have a third one?!"

XXX

_Author's Notes: I know, I know. This is much later than I said it'd be. I'm sorry—with finals coming down on my head, I haven't had time! SORRY! Anyway, I hope to get the next chapter up by next week or so. Trouble with Iscariot, Christmas is coming, and Integra and Cunard get to know each other a little better._


	6. Boredom, Blood and Revelations Part I

"**The Organization"**

**By: SniperWolf**

**DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Hellsing, but not because of lack of effort. :( **

**I do own the Inspector, of course, and her wonderful weapons, and the various characters that come up in her past and such. And the random pedestrians inserted for plot convenience are mine too.**

**Chapter Six: Boredom, Blood and Revelations (Part I)**

Inspector Cunard lay in her coffin, tossing a tennis ball at the ceiling, attempting to stave off death by boredom. Though she had grown accustomed to being a vampire these last few months, the one thing she had never been able to adjust to was that sense of ennui—of having so much time that she had no idea what to do with herself. It had been a week since her last mission—in that time, her face had healed for the most part; the skin was mostly whole, save a few dark scars that Alucard said may remain with her for a while, until she got a little stronger.

She sighed, and threw the tennis ball at the ceiling again, and was quite thoroughly surprised when a gloved hand reached through the ceiling and grabbed it before it could come back down.

"Bored, are we?" Alucard said as he came through the ceiling into her room, taking a seat in her one wooden chair.

"Can I have it back, please?" the Inspector asked. "I'm really not much in the mood to fight."

"I love how you still say that, even though you know full well that I don't care if you're in the mood for it or not, Inspector," Alucard said dryly, tossing the ball in the air and then catching it as it came back down.

"I hate how you're completely inconsiderate of other people—"

"You forget you're not a 'people' anymore, don't you?" Alucard muttered.

"I think, therefore I am," Cunard said. Thank you Rene Descartes.

"You're dead, therefore you aren't," Alucard retorted, spinning the ball on one finger. "And you aren't very good at that either. Every time I've come in here—"

"Why do you come in here?"

"—you've been playing with this stupid ball—"

"No, seriously, who invited you in here?"

"—and wallowing in your own boredom!" Alucard finished, throwing the ball in the air and pulling out the Jackal, and shooting a hole clean through the tennis ball, and then throwing it into the trashcan in the corner, which was filled with similar tennis balls with similar bullet holes.

"You're not hearing me at all, are you?" Cunard said, quickly growing impatient.

"He's right," Seras said, peeking into the room from the hallway, and then coming into the room.

"Oh, you too. Fine. Party in my room!" Cunard said sardonically.

"You won't make it as a No-Life King if you are routed by something as simple as your own lack of imagination," Alucard said sardonically, pocketing the Jackal again.

"Things will pick up again soon," Seras said reassuringly, while at the same time eyeing the Hershey bar on Cunard's table, brought to her by Walter earlier that week. "We're into the longest nights of the year now—we'll get more vampire activity now too."

"Some way to spend Christmas," Cunard muttered.

"Don't tell me you're still sore from that last bout," Alucard muttered, smirking. "Because those things were hardly vampires. Hardly worthy of our time. They only get tougher from here on out, Inspector, so stop wallowing in self-pity and do something."

"Like what?"

"Figure it out," Alucard snapped. "Or perish, because this is what eternity is like, Inspector."

With that, the Nosferatu exited the room through a wall, and Seras followed her master (discreetly taking the chocolate on her way out), heading out the door. Cunard sighed—as much as she hated to admit it, not only were they right, but their visit had been the high point of her evening so far. Looking at her watch, she sighed. It wasn't even six o' clock yet. Rising to her feet, she began to head upstairs—maybe there was something more interesting up there—maybe a book in the library or something, she reasoned. After navigating down the corridors (and getting lost several times) she arrived in Sir Integra's library, and began looking over the titles on the shelves.

"So, you already finished the new books, eh?"

Cunard jumped and whirled on her heel, her muscles tensed, only to find that it was only Walter, seated in an armchair near the fire. Cunard smiled, and Walter put a marker in his book and gestured for the Inspector to take a seat in the chair opposite his.

"Yes, I did," she said, watching the fire and backing the chair up a little, instinctively. "They were good—I like anything by Camus, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is always fun for someone like me. But I finished them yesterday."

"Ah," Walter said quietly. "I'll make a note to go pick up a couple more once the holidays are over."

"Oh yes, that's right," Cunard said, nodding. "It's almost Christmas, isn't it?"

"Eight more days," Walter said.

"I never can remember. Each day kind of blurs into the next for me. I find calendars quite overrated now—can't understand for the life of me how I once governed my whole life by them. I never leave, so…speaking of leaving, where is Sir Integra?"

"She went out for a bit."

"Alone?" Cunard said, puzzled.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about her. She can handle herself just fine—she's got a permit to carry concealed weaponry," Walter said, smiling as he looked at the somewhat shocked expression on Cunard's face. "Oh, don't worry. She's got one of the uniforms shuttling her around everywhere. Since when do you give a damn about Sir Integra?"

"I was just asking there, Dr. Freud," Cunard said sarcastically. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, you know."

"And other times it isn't."

"It was nothing," Cunard said, looking out the window. Snow was beginning to fall outside, covering the two inches already on the ground with fresh powder.

"They say it'll be four, maybe five inches by dawn," Walter said, noticing what she was staring at. "Although I suppose that doesn't make you feel any better, does it?"

"No, not really."

Walter sighed, watching the melancholy Inspector. After a moment, he smiled, and Cunard turned to look at him. There was something mischievous in that grin, and Cunard looked at him, puzzled, and said, "What is it, Walter?"

"I have an idea," he said, putting his book on the side table and standing up. "Come with me."

XXX

Integra Hellsing settled down into a chair in a quiet café, sipping her tea. There were some days that it was vital for her sanity just to get out for a little bit, to escape the paperwork and freaks, and this was it. Removing her black overcoat, she put the cup and saucer on the table, and set her papers out in front of her. Normally she was reluctant to do work out in public, but tonight everyone was with family or shopping, it seemed, for the normally crowded tea shop was all but deserted, save herself, the tired looking boy behind the counter and an older man on a laptop computer. Taking another sip of her tea, she opened the manila folder that Walter had given her before she left and began to read.

He had spent quite a bit of time this week trying to find out more about the enigmatic Alex Cunard—from talking with U.S. officials, to tracking down platoon members to finding the few people she'd ever dated, Walter had left no stone unturned. Opening the file, she saw that the first photocopied form was the birth certificate for one Alexandra Rowena Cunard, born November the 5th, 1970 to James and Rebecca (Snow) Cunard of Boston. She turned the page and found photocopies again—this time, the death certificates for Rebecca (1970, aneurysm following childbirth) and James (1985, suicide), and the forms which transferred Cunard to the care of her grandfather, Lionel Cunard.

Somehow it didn't surprise her that the Inspector had lost her parents so young. Perhaps that was how she'd become so stubborn and self-sufficient. So like Integra herself, who had lost her father when she was just a few years younger than Cunard.

Turning the page, she saw the Inspector's high school transcript—she'd graduated number 4 in her class from Boston Latin, a top U.S. prep school, and had been an honor student. Following graduation, it seemed, she was recruited into the Marine Corps in 1988. Walter had been so kind as to put the Inspector's graduation photo in the folder, and as she looked at the eighteen-year-old in her dress blues, she chuckled a little, thinking about how Private Cunard looked more Bambi than Rambo, despite her best efforts to be solemn.

Following training, she had been placed in the U.S. embassy in West Germany just before the fall of Communism, and during that time was promoted to Lance Corporal for her top-notch intelligence work. However, Integra frowned, realizing that the Inspector had not been entirely truthful with her. Apparently, at the outbreak of the Gulf War, the Inspector had been transferred to Kuwait, and promoted to Sergeant (Included, she saw, was a bold-looking Cunard, proudly displaying the new Sergeant stripes on her desert camos, standing on top of a tank.). Three months later, the Inspector had been honorably discharged from the Corps, for "medical reasons".

A photo taken of her following that incident was included, and here she saw the Inspector like saw was today: cold, a bit bitter, somewhat sardonic. A cigarette in her mouth, a stack on manila folders carried under her right arm, wearing her dress blues.

"What happened to you?" Integra muttered, looking at the photo with interest. "What the hell happened?"

She paused for a moment, hearing the door to the shop open.

XXX

Alex Cunard could not believe her own bad luck. Of all the tea shops in London, she had to pick the one that Sir Integra Hellsing happened to be sitting in.

"Oh, what the hell?" She muttered under her breath, fishing for the money she'd put in the pocket of the overcoat that Walter had insisted that she wear, even though he knew full well that she couldn't actually feel cold, that it was a_ mortal_ failing. "Oh, never mind. It's not like she can tell, anyway."

After they had left the library, she and Walter had gone into a nearby bathroom, where—after searching around in the messy cabinets for some time—he found a bottle of hair dye, which they had used to turn the Inspector's stark white hair a sable color. After leaving the Hellsing grounds (by climbing the stone walls to freedom, no less) she had purchased some colored contact lenses which had turned her eyes an army green color. He figured that Sir Integra would be gone until maybe nine or ten 'o clock, and that to return unnoticed Cunard would have to arrive during that brief changing-of-the-guard window at nine-thirty, and if she didn't make that, she would have to wait until after the nine-forty formation and the 20-minute perimeter sweep. If she got caught, she would be completely on her own—Walter wouldn't be able to help her if she managed to rile Sir Integra; he had to follow her orders as much as Cunard did.

Seeing her look up as she entered, Cunard looked down, not meeting the Hellsing director's fierce blue eyes. Instead, she continued on, right fist clenched over the Euros in her pocket. She placed her money on the counter and looked up at the young man behind the counter.

"Coffee, please," she said in hushed tones, ignoring the look the boy behind the counter gave her. "Sugar, no cream."

The boy made her order, and Cunard sipped it, and upon finding it to be a bit too bitter for her tastes, she added a bit more sugar, careful to keep her face obscured from view, for she was certain that she could feel those haunting eyes boring into her back. Tasting it again and coming away satisfied this time, the Inspector turned to leave. Though the atmosphere inside the café was nice enough, Cunard had been inside for far too long. Rather than sit and read as she drank her coffee, she figured that she would walk down the crowded London streets, sipping her coffee, enjoying the hustle and bustle of people preparing for the holidays, and the falling snow.

Heading out the door once more, the Inspector paused for a moment. Something didn't feel right, she realized, taking a quick scan of the area. All she saw were humans, humans struggling to finish all their shopping in time for the holidays, or enjoying the seasonal festivities. Harmless, she realized, and shrugged. A moment later, however, she heard the door behind her open and shut, and heard the breathing of someone behind her.

"Care to tell me what you're doing out of the manor?" said the cold voice of Integral Hellsing.

"Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but I just—"Cunard began, not turning around to face her boss, and trying to disguise her voice a little. "Just wanted something to drink before I went back out into the cold."

"Inspector, it would take more than cheap hair dye and colored contacts to hide your identity," Integra said, her voice a bit smug. "And you and I both know you can't feel cold, Inspector."

Cunard turned. "What gave me away?"

"Four things, really," Integra said, lighting a cigar. "For one thing, you proved yourself an American by walking into a tea shop and ordering coffee. Secondly, you walk with a…vertical dignity, something I'd bet that the Marines had trained into you, and it is rather distinctive, especially since you tend not to do anything with your left arm at all. Thirdly, you looked up for a moment, and the scars on the right side of your face are rather idiosyncratic, and will continue to give you away until they finally fade. Lastly, that shabby old coat you're wearing is Walter's…he's had it since I was a little girl."

"Well, subtlety has never really been my thing," Cunard said quietly, shrugging.

"Obviously not," Integra snapped. "So, how many people have you bitten tonight?"

"None."

Integra looked at her skeptically. "You haven't felt that urge to feed, Inspector? You didn't give in to your vampiric nature?"

"No, Sir Integra. I'm not the type to bite. Besides," Cunard said, pulling a couple of wrapped chocolate bars out of one of the coat's pockets. "Why in God's name would I drink blood when I can get Hershey bars so damn cheap?"

"All vampires are the type to bite," Integra said bitterly. "So why did you want out so badly?"

"I could ask the same question of you, Sir Integra," Cunard said, smirking a little.

Integra smirked. "I wanted a little peace and quiet."

"Just because I'm dead I can't want the same thing?" Cunard said. "Just because I lack a pulse I'm not human?"

Integra stiffened, averting her gaze. "Maybe Alucard was right about you. Maybe you are a timid evening walker."

"How would you know?" Cunard said wryly, smirking. "This is the first time you've talked to me in three months."

"Are you armed?" Integra asked.

"Of course," Cunard said, surprised that Integra had even asked the question.

"You're concealing it well, then," Integra noted.

"Yes, well, Walter gave me a few pointers," Cunard admitted.

Cunard looked up again and scanned the crowd once more. She couldn't shake this feeling of unease. All she saw was more of the same, and perhaps that's what frightened her most of all. She gripped her coffee tighter, and Integra noticed that Cunard's hand had begun to shake a little bit.

"Hungry?" she said, still looking at the crowd.

"Are you always like this?"

"Vampire-baiting is a hobby of mine," she admitted, shrugging. "But never mind. Let us get back to headquarters before you start causing trouble. Last thing I need tonight is you chewing up half the population of London."

"Sir Hellsing—"

"Come now," Integra said coldly, heading down the street. "I asked the soldier I took with me to park down the street, to avoid attention. We'll be bringing you back, Inspector."

"Ah, yes. Of course, Sir Hellsing," Cunard said, gritting her teeth a little. "And what attention do you have to avoid, Sir Hellsing?"

"Things you don't need to know about just yet," Integra said vaguely, as they went around the corner to an unlit side street—the same side street that Cunard's apartment had been on. Looking up at the blue tarp covering the exploded wreckage of Cunard's home, she asked, "You lived there?"

"I dwelled there, yes," Cunard said quietly. "I'm not sure that I really honest-to-God_ lived_ anywhere. But I liked it well enough—it was a kind of filing cabinet for young professionals, really, so it was quiet; most of them didn't have kids. I wasn't there often enough to say that I lived there, I don't think."

"You were successful." Integra said. "You held the highest volume of solved cases in the entire Yard. Isn't that something to be proud of?"

"But it doesn't matter now, does it?" Cunard said bitterly. "I always used to think that if I could escape it all, could escape being Alex Cunard, that I'd be much happier. Well, it turn out I'm not. I wasn't happy in life, and I'm unhappy in unlife."

"Why did you leave the States, anyway?" Integra said quietly.

"What, Walter couldn't find that information for you?" Cunard said. Noting the slightly surprised expression on Integra's face, "Yes, I knew what he was doing—I even helped him do it. He can't hide much from me, Sir Hellsing, and it was—I hate to say it—kind of interesting to compile a posthumous record of myself. It's interesting to see what people say about you after you're dead. But still, you don't have all the answers, do you?"

"Are you hiding something?"

"Aren't we all, Sir Hellsing?" Cunard said with a smile.

"Why you—you're going to tell me. You are in my employ, and you will not be keeping me from information just because it suits you," Integra snapped.

"I'm not keeping you from anything," Cunard said. "I'm just…"

"Just what?" Integra snapped as the Inspector began to trail off.

"Shh," Cunard said suddenly, cutting her off. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Integra looked up, and in the distance in the darkness ahead, she saw a bit of light from the streetlamps shine off of a pair of glasses and a pair sharp, pointed implements. Certain she heard mumbling, she listened closer—it was a man, mumbling biblical verse, his accent thick and obviously Irish.

"Get in the car, Sir Hellsing," Cunard growled. "Something tells me this isn't about you right now."

"Do you even know what you're dealing—"Integra whispered back, just as urgently.

"I'm sure I'll find out," Cunard said, revealing Armageddon, which had been kept carefully hidden in the folds of Walter's coat. "Now go."

Cunard stepped forward, toward the man. Pumping the shotgun and clutching it firmly in her right hand, she mumbled. "Well, I'm not bored anymore, that's for fucking sure."


End file.
